He may not have won the race in Oa, but he surely shot to fame.

Instantly, he was dubbed the rising star of Speed Sprint Racing, the new kid on track, the ghost of Luis Serrano. Enter Nio in the battle of the trio!

That Julio Bianchi was still fighting for his life in Oa General Hospital had not been covered extensively, except in his home country. Peterov's victory had been but a side-note, even in Kvyiania. How Nio had miraculously escaped the carnage in Turn One and the subsequent battle with Ruben Vincuña was all the voicebox reporters were talking about, and what all the newspapers and magazines were filling their pages with.

It wasn't all joy and rainbows. While his fainting after the race hadn't been reported on in great detail, the news was slowly being picked up. More and more journalists were wondering whether Nio was fit enough to drive, even questioning his entry into the Sprints, which was, after all, the pinnacle of motorsport.

Nio listened to their overanalysis with great amusement. Let them waste barrels of ink and endless rolls of gamma tape pretending to be holy saviours who would save him from his own recklessness. His actions spoke louder than their words.

More annoyingly were the gutter longtails, those reporters and photographers who cared more about Nio's antics off-track than what he had accomplished. These journalists were in a league of their own, ambushing him when he least expected, taking everything he said out of context and bloating statements into exaggerations or plain falsehoods. Even if he dodged one, the road to Vale was long, with too many corners from where they could be lurking.

"We have a problem," his boss said, gesticulating at the dozens of newspapers and magazines strewn on the table.

Nio remained standing, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his new high-waisted, chequered trousers—courtesy of sponsor Rurburry, who also provided Nio's cream. Though Mister Steinnemann's camper wagon was a replica of Nio's, the lack of worn clothes on the floor and dirty dishes everywhere, made him feel ill at ease.

He looked away from his boss and Edge, his eyes landing on a hastily printed copy of Super Sprint Weekly, which boasted the headline, 'I don't need Luis Serrano in my life.' 

"It would help if they stop twisting my words," Nio said. "This lady asked me if I wanted to meet Luis Serrano, so I said that I would like to see him in Porti Jano, at the end of the season, when he crowns me as Speed King."

"Which makes you the problem. You say what you think."

"So what am I supposed to say?" He couldn't help but shout, his voice slightly cracking. "They badger me, question after question. It never ends—they're everywhere. You have no idea what they're like."

To his surprise, Mister Steinnemann began to laugh; it was a boisterous laugh filled with condescension. "I've been in this business for thirty-two fudging years. I've heard every question those rats can think of, more than once even because they are not very original. There's a good answer to everything."

"Then tell me, how do you want me to react to this?" Nio reached for a newspaper across the table showing a caricature of him driving away from Oan coppers while Mister Steinnemann was waving a flag made out of money. He held it up for Edge and his boss to see. "It's the truth. You tricked me into stealing your car, and then you bailed me out of Soulgrave! I am a thief!"

"Shout louder, Nio," Mister Steinnemann snapped, slamming his fist so hard a handful of papers landed close to the edge. "I'm sure some backward farmer down in the valley hasn't heard you."

Edge made a clicking noise. "Gentlemen, what has been said and done is over," she said, glancing both at him and Mister Steinnemann. "What we need is to shift the rats' attention to something else. We can throw them some bait."

Nio blinked rapidly. "Bait?"

"Your former foster parents have given an interview to Sky Radio," Edge said. "They hope you haven't forgotten them, or the orphanage you grew up in."

"I have, and I intend to keep it that way," he said as neutrally as possible. 

"Oh, you intend to keep it that way," Edge repeated. She sounded disappointed.

"Yes."

Nio flicked the newspaper back on the table, covering a picture of him and Nina, suggesting there was something more than just a professional relationship. The audacity. He was barely friends with his teammate; they tolerated each other, at best.

"Well," Edge paused, as if weighing her words. "We were thinking of inviting them over for the sprint in Lushtown."

"Hobblers, no!"

"Think about it. The media, rats and all will eat up your tragic background story. The fans will love it."

"And what is good for the journalists and fans, is even better for our sponsors," Mister Steinnemann added. "When sponsors are happy, they give more money. When we have more money, we can build a better car."

"Isn't it enough that I drove fantastically?" Nio asked.

Both his boss and racing engineer shook their head.

"That's not how it works," Edge said, still shaking. "You're only as good as your last sprint."

Nio sighed, momentarily distracted by Ruben Vincuña passing by the camper, shirtless and wearing tight leather pants that left little to the imagination. If only he could be there instead of here.

He turned back to Edge and Mister Steinnemann. "I have no fond memories of my time here in Vale, and I don't see why I should be confronted with my past. It won't make me a better driver."

"But aren't you curious to see how they are doing? They raised you," Edge tried.

Nio scoffed. "I wouldn't call it raising, Edge. They made sure I didn't die, that I had food, clothes, and a roof over my head. They weren't kind or supportive. Maybe others have had the luxury of growing up with loving parents or guardians, but I did not. Other than my life, I don't owe Laddy Paddy and Lassy Maeve anything."

Edge narrowed her eyes, her lips contorted into a slight grimace. "Without them, you wouldn't be standing here today."

"I don't care." He shrugged. "My life in Vale is something of the past, and I'd appreciate it if people stopped digging."

"They won't," Mister Steinnemann said, cold and to the point. "Please understand that we have this discussion out of courtesy, not because I have to."

"You own me, I know, but I don't need to like it. Offer Laddy Paddy and Lassy Maeve some tickets to see the sprints. Give them the VIP treatment, including breakfast, lunch, dinner and an open bar—for all I care. I don't want to see them."

"They'll still talk to the press and the voicebox reporters, which will be bad for the sponsors and—"

"—bad for the performance of the car. I get it. If we don't develop the car, we'll end last." Nio had been a fan of the Speed Sprints for as long as he could remember. He understood more about the world than his team thought he did. "What I don't get is why you can't appease the sponsors differently. I would do anything to not have to deal with questions about my past."

Mister Steinnemann raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "Anything?"

"Anything," Nio confirmed.

A large, pensive frown formed on his boss' forehead as the man rubbed his beard. He glanced at the table, at Nio, then stared out the window. Outside, Nina was talking to a still shirtless Ruben Vincuña while doing crunches with additional weights around her neck. Mister Steinnemann leafed through several magazines, opened a few newspapers, and then stopped. His eyes widened; he smiled.

"Ask Nina to come in," he whispered to Edge.

His racing engineer ticked on the glass, beckoning his teammate to come in. 

After a short summary to catch Nina up to speed, Mister Steinnemann said, "The solution to all our problems is standing right in front of me. My two drivers... both beautiful people, a brilliant mix of experience and youthful recklessness. You ooze power and success. Some want to be you, others want to be with you." His tongue ran over his teeth. "It would be a shame to stare at such an opportunity and not use it."

What was he talking about?

"Get it over with, Gunder. I don't have all day," Nina said carelessly, more focused on fixing her right suspender than on what their boss was saying.

"Nio and Nina." He pointed at the both of them, turning his fingers into guns, then clapped his hands. "Together."

"Alright, fine," Nina said as though somebody had told her the schedule of the day. "Can I go now?"

"Hang on, no!" Nio yelled. "I don't understand—you want us to... date?"

"Exactly," Mister Steinnemann said. "It's not real, of course, but that's our little secret." He winked.

"How do you expect us to pull this off?

Nina grabbed Nio's hand and held it tight. "That's one. Then, whenever you say something to me, don't say it out loud. Whisper into my ear. They'll think you're saying something sweet. And when the rats come crawling out of their gutter, all you have to do is tell them what a wonderful person I am, and how madly in love you are. It's not that hard."

Nio searched for Edge who had seemingly checked out of the conversation, paying more attention to notes that lay in front of her than her driver. He wormed out of Nina's grip, his stomach quivering at the thought of having to keep up appearances, every click of every coo; day in, day out.

"It'll be weird," Nio said. "As much as we work together for the team, we're competitors. Only one of us can become the champion."

"That'll make the story so interesting. They'll forget any other story they had their minds set on. Drama sells. Love sells. Combine the two, and the dons, swaps, marks, cruzos and other types of money will come rolling in. I will be able to give you the best car."

"I'll do anything to win," Nina said, already turning on her heel.

"Me too," Nio said quickly. 

Not that Nio had wrapped his head around the idea yet, but he didn't want Nina to beat him, regardless of the situation. If she was fine with putting on a show, then he would be too, even if he was not. 

If only they had asked him to get into a fake relationship with Ruben Vincuña, he wouldn't have to pretend to feign interest or feel attraction.

"I'm glad we all came to this understanding," Mister Steinnemann said with a broad grin. "Fly out, my pretties. Do what you must, and do it together."

"Oh, Nio," Edge said as Nio made his way to the door. "We've officially received a warning from the Federation. Your driving is too aggressive. Tone it down."

Nio bit his bottom lip, shaking his head. "I don't understand, Edge. I'm supposed to be among the best of the best. You'll find more bravery in street racing than in the Sprints. It's a joke."

"There are rules," she said. "You'll need to master them before you can break them."

"That's alright, Edge. That's where I thrive."

The second Speed Sprint was two days later. Time that Nio should have used to learn the Lushtown Oval, but was now spent on being stilted and awkward around Nina. As natural as her banter was in front of the journalists, he couldn't help but sense an invisible but obvious barrier between them. In the eyes of Stone Racing Team, she was the first driver, but he had scored more points in the opening sprint. He had to keep the momentum going, continuously beating Nina in order to demand at least equality.

Too many times he considered going back to Mister Steinnemann to tell him he couldn't do it, that he would rather have an in-depth interview with Laddy Paddy, Lassy Maeve, and a horde of gutter longtails than have to pretend to be in love with Nina for one click longer.

But once he was in the car, now upgraded with the latest technology to match the Malechites, Nio realised he would sell his soul in order to win. Nothing could match that euphoric sensation of driving at the speed of eight hurricanes while passing slower drivers. The oval track wasn't hard to learn, not like the treacherous corners of Oa Circuit. All it required were guts and a thoughtless mind; he had both.

He qualified fourth, right behind Peterov and Nina, their fastest times all within the same click.

The afternoon brought heavy rain, a deluge typical for Vale that turned the track into a slippery, treacherous mess. Twice over, Nio changed goggles, to stop the drops of rain from seeping in and blurring his vision. If the years in Vale had taught him anything, it was how to drive in a downpour.

As the lights went out, signalling the start of the sprint, Nio pushed hard, the wheels slipping and sliding on the wet asphalt. 

Peterov had a slow start, which allowed Nio to shoot past him. In the next few turns, the Malachite tried to catch up, but Nio kept his foot on the accelerator and pulled away. After the first lap, there was nearly a click between them.

This was only the beginning. The rain was making it hard to see anything but the spray of the cars in front of him. Edge gave him the instruction to follow Nina.

And so he did. Let Nina try to take on Vincuña, putting strain on her tyres and engine, lap after lap. He was the third slobbermouth, watching the others fight while he patiently awaited the opportune moment to strike and grab the bone.

During lap forty-two, Nina pushed too closely, ending up in Vincuña's dirty air. Nio swooped past her on the inside; he was too far from the pitwall to receive other instructions from the team. If asked after the race, he would say that he had acted instinctively, overtaking Nina instead of risking Peterov to overtake the both of them. That the Kvyianian was five clicks behind was but a detail.

Edge remained silent.

As he entered the last lap, Vincuña was within reach. There was less than a car's length between them, and if Nio wanted to win, he had to make a move.

He pushed the car to the absolute limit of eight and a half hurricanes, feeling every turn and force of gravity pulling on him.

Just as he approached the final turn, he positioned the car on the inside, edging closer and closer to the lead, fractions of a click at a time. He made a daring move, going wheel-to-wheel as the finish line came into view.

The crowd roared, and flashes of light illuminated the track as he crossed the line. Neither he nor Vincuña dared to raise their arms in victory.

"Edge?" Nio asked. "Did I win? Tell me I won!"

"We're awaiting official results from the federation," his racing engineer said, the tension apparent in her voice. "Whatever happens, you've proven to the critics that you belong here."

"I don't plan on fainting again either," Nio joked. He wouldn't; Hewie had practically force-fed him.

The official result came as he nearly completed the victory lap, possibly the longest, slowest lap Nio completed.

"Zero point zero four clicks, but you won...you won!" Edge screamed over the voicebox. "You are a Speed Sprint winner, Nio Barn!"

Nio's heart skipped a beat of sheer joy. "Balls of a slobbermouth... I did it! We did it, Edge. I won! We won!"

He had beaten Nina. He had beaten the Malachites. He was a Speed Sprint winner, the first one in the history of the team, and leading the championship. The surreality of that realisation made him yell for all of Lushtown, all of Vale, all the world to hear.

When he got out of the car and saw the speed with which Nina ran up to him, he half-expected the petite woman to slap him in the face, to accuse him of stealing her thunder. As first driver, that victory should have been hers, although Nio had beaten her fair and square. Instead, she threw her arms around him and began kissing him, deeply and passionately.

Nio was a passenger on this ride; he let it all happen as a sea of flashes surrounded him; that was the picture that went around the world, that everybody gushed about and wanted Nio and Nina to talk about. Two teammates in love.

Nobody dared question that it wasn't real.

But how long would that last?